Learning to Breathe
by TrinityChaos66
Summary: One robot learns just what it means to be human. AU Eventual ZoSan
1. Learning to Want

_I've been planning this short drabble series of a robo!Sanji for a while now, based on this one world from my other fic, "Another Time, Another Day". I'm hoping to update every two weeks or so._

/

"Designation: Zero-Three-Zero-Two-Zero-Seven. Repeat."

"Designation: Zero-Three-Zero-Two-Zero-Seven,"

"Very good. And your primary function?"

"Security of the Alabasta Estate,"

"Correct. Set up complete. Shut down."

/

His life is ruled by a routine. An endless cycle of paroling through the palace halls, analyzing every movement and corner. Time is irrelevant. He can last without recharge for a whole month, his body designed to never ware down with the strenuous movement that his job requires. His memory storage is practically limitless. He is one of a kind.

He is the first in a new model released only to those who could afford such expensive equipment. He is just the beginning but they already see him as a success. Reliable, durable, multi-functional. But what really sets him apart from the other, older robots is his face. The face that shares the image of man.

The machines you see lined up along shop windows, available for use in any household, are faceless, their bodies just basic frames of a human to give them mobility and hands to work with. But he is different. He looks like the ones he serves, the ones who created him, he looks human.

He looks like a man but his body is cold, nothing but metal. His hair is soft and a bright yellow but it can never grow. His strength, though impressive, comes from his false body. The sensation of taste, touch, smell, is nothing more than clever programming of faux-nerves.

He is aware of all of this. He is aware of his origin, his creator, his main function. He knows he is not human.

"Hey Zeff, that 'bot's back again!"

He is standing by the doorway of the large palace kitchen. He is still, watching every movement in the room at once. At this time, he is suppose to be patrolling the west wing, rounding that one corner with the framed picture of Vivi and Kohza as kids hanging on the wall, but instead he finds himself, for the third time that week, at the kitchen entrance.

An old man – _Zeff,_ his databanks supply him with, t_he head chef of the palace's kitchen for 15 years, lost his leg in unknown accident – _approaches him with a raised brow and hands at his hips.

"Again?" the man questions. "Has the shitty thing malfunctioned already?"

Something inside of him sparks and heats at the idea that he, of all creations, could malfunction. He was, after all, suppose to the greatest invention of the generation. The feeling is unfamiliar though, so he files it away to report later.

The old chef is waiting for an explanation. He opens his mouth to speak, to explain his presence, but nothing comes out. Being at a loss of words is something he has never experienced with before.

"I found," he begins before stopping to start again. "I am intrigued by your work here."

The words are somewhat foreign to him. Never before had he admitted to himself of being intrigued, of being curious, about something, anything. His primary function is security, nothing more, nothing less.

The kitchen staff is quiet, staring at him with wide eyes and wonder. Zeff's stance and expression has yet to change though and, despite all improbability, the room seems to shrink to contain just the two of them.

Finally, Zeff speaks, "So what do you want, you piece of junk?"

Somewhere in his processing he registers the gruff tone and the insult yet he focuses only on the question itself. It is another foreign phrase. What did he want? No one had ever asked him what he wanted, no one ever asked him anything that didn't involve his objective. More unknown feelings swell inside him and his loss of words seem to disappear.

"I would like to learn," he replies.

His response is obviously shocking to the other occupants of the room as many gasp in surprise. Zeff continues to study him intently, ignoring the murmurs that were quickly filling the kitchen.

Another chef – _Patty_, is the name he is given – speaks up.

"I thought you 'bots could just look something up in that endless database brain you've got. Don't you have the entire internet in there or something?"

"Something like that, yes," he admits. He looks back to Zeff and his hand automatically clenches at his side before easing up again, a gesture he's seen Kohza do many times when he particularly stressful or nervous. Was he...nervous? No, impossible. "But I think this is something I would like to learn with experience."

Zeff's decision seems to be made then as he nods and gestures him to enter the kitchen fully.

"Alright, fine," the old man grumbles. "But if you set us back, I'm kicking your metal ass back to the scrapheap."

His eyes widen and his mouth curves into a smile as he follows the head chef to a nearby stove.

"What's your name anyway? Gotta call you something." Patty asks as he watches them.

"Designation: zero-three-zero-two-zero-seven," he recites quickly. Zeff shakes his head.

"That's too much of mouth-full in the kitchen. Come up with something else or you'll just be known as 'Junk'."

He spends the rest of the week thinking of names. He goes through lists and lists of popular baby names, speaking them aloud to find the one that sounded the most fitting. His fellow chefs give him a few suggestions but most are nothing more than jokes.

One morning when he is helping Zeff with breakfast, reciting the names that he chose as possible candidates, he hears Zeff mumble one under his breath.

He tries saying it for himself and smiles.

Yes, Sanji sounds rather nice.


	2. Learning to Dream

Three months had passed since Sanji started helping in the kitchens and answering to his new name given to him by Zeff. Honestly, it was a much longer time than he had expected. At first, Sanji thought that perhaps after immersing himself in the fast-paced environment that was the kitchen for a few weeks, the foreign interest and curiosity would fade back to wherever it came from. On the contrary though, every time Sanji attempted something new or when Zeff demonstrated a skill with practiced ease, the new feelings inside him grew.

It didn't stop just there though. A month into his involvement with the other cooks Zeff has pulled the robot aside and offered a different kind of lesson. A lesson in capoeira.

A quick search had filled Sanji's head with various pictures, videos, and descriptions of the sport. It had left the robot staring blankly at the older man.

"You are aware that as a model specifically designed for security, I am programed to be efficient in over fifty different types of martial arts?" he informed Zeff.

The older chef had simply scowled and charged forward.

From then on, Sanji found that he actually preferred the new sport. The rush and rhythmic movement that it required left Sanji's body feeling so much more light and agile than it actually was. It was also nice to find that he actually fought better with his legs anyway.

If there was any bad side to his new hobbies, it was that Zeff often forced him to act as his errand boy. A couple times a week the old man would shout at Sanji to go out into town to pick up extra ingredients or supplies that the kitchen needed at the time. The amount of times Sanji had to do so only increased when Madame Vivi-the sweet angel-allowed for Sanji to spilt his duties between security of the estate and cooking in the kitchens.

Today's errand required Sanji to search for a hole in the wall bookstore that Zeff apparently often visited. The old chef informed the robot that he had specially ordered a recipe book from the place and they had called the day before to tell him it had come in.

The bookstore wasn't too hard to find—especially with the GPS system already built within his frame- but it did give off the feeling of being run down and old, enough to drive away the more modern generation. It was a small store at the bottom of an apartment building where the owners lived no doubt. A family business probably, Sanji deducted as he made his way through the door of the shop. A bell hanging above the door frame rang when hit, announcing his entrance.

The teenager behind the counter smiled slightly at Sanji as he approached.

"How may I help you?" The worker—Usopp, his nametag read—asked.

"I am here to pick up a book for Zeff Redleg." Sanji answered, placing his hands gently atop the counter.

"Oh! The cook book, right?" Usopp jerked his head back toward a door farther in the store with an 'Employees Only' sign hanging from it. "It's in the back. I'll go grab it for you."

Sanji watched as Usopp disappeared into the other room before turning back to the counter. It wasn't very big, barely containing everything on its surface. The cash register took up most of the space, a bulking machine that looked positively ancient when compared to Sanji. Next to the large machine was a stack of books, their covers all an identical bright green. Below the stack was a colorfully drawn sign that read 'Please Support Our New Authors!'

Intrigued, Sanji reached up to grab the book atop the stack when Usopp walked out of the back room, recipe book held out in front of him.

"Sorry it's a little dusty," Usopp said, placing the book on the counter to scan to the register. "The back room is such a mess."

"It is fine," Sanji assured. He glanced back at the stack of books beside him and motioned to it. "What is this for?"

Usopp looked away from the register to see what Sanji was pointing to and brightened up considerably when he did. A smile stretched across the worker's face as he enthusiastically grabbed the top book and flipped it open in front of the blond.

"Every couple of months the shop helps advertise new authors who want to sell their works," Usopp explained. "I was finally able to get my book published last month and the owners were kind enough to let me showcase it here."

"You made this?" Sanji asked in surprise. He looked down at the book that was being flipped through in front of him.

It was obviously suppose to be a children's book with its large font and its bright colors but the art in no way was amateurish. Each page seemed to have a drawing of some sort, some took up small spaces, while others took up a whole page. Every picture that was flipped through left Sanji even more impressed.

"Yeah, every picture and word," A slight blush rose to Usopp's cheeks and the worker smiled bashfully. "It's called, '_Captain Usopp's Greatest Adventures', _all about a brave warrior of the sea who, with his loyal 8,000 followers, sailed all across the world."

Sanji smiled as he watched the worker practically glow with glee while explaining the story behind each picture. The blond figured it wasn't very often that someone took an interest in the teenager's work so it was understandable that the worker would be so eager to talk about it to a potential customer. It wasn't a problem though, Sanji was more than willing to let Usopp ramble on.

"And this," Usopp began as he turned to the next page. "Is the All Blue."

Something in Sanji's system stalled as he took in the new picture, his eyes widened and his mouth parted in what he could only categorize as awe. He was sure that if he were human the more appropriate phrase would be 'breathtaking'.

The page was a palette of blues and greens, brushed and mixed together to imitate the ocean. The waves seemed to roar; it churned, pushed and pulled, currents dancing ferociously across the large print words. The sun in the painted sky reflected in the water, making the white sea form sparkle and shine. It was beautiful.

"I actually didn't make this one," Usopp's sudden voice pulled Sanji out of his daze, tearing his eyes away from the book to glance at the teenager. "I mean, I did the painting but the All Blue is an old sailor's tale. No one really owns it."

It was almost automatic the way Sanji's head searched the phrase 'All Blue', pulling up the first source that had come up. It really was an old tale, one from the prime age of piracy, that had as much proof of being real as Atlantis. An ocean that carried every sea creature in the world, how fascinating.

Sanji didn't realize he had been staring into empty space until Usopp cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Anyway," Usopp said, picking up the cook book that had been dropped on the counter in his enthusiasm. "Sorry for taking up your time. I'll just ring this up for you."

"Actually," Sanji picked up the worker's children book. "I would like to purchase this as well."

The glow in Usopp's eyes returned.

"Really? You're the first person to actually want to buy it," the teenager admitted. "You know what? I'll give it to you for free."

Sanji raised a brow. "I thought you were trying to make money?"

Usopp shook his head as he put both books into a plastic bag for Sanji to carry.

"Money's nice and all but I'm just glad that I'm getting my work out there," Usopp handed the bag to Sanji with a smile. "As long as I know someone in this world is enjoying my work then I'm happy."

/

That night as Sanji patrolled the East Wing right on schedule, Usopp's book was open in his hands, the many hues of the All Blue staring back at him. Briefly, Sanji wondered if Zeff had ever heard of the mystical ocean. He recalled one of the chef's commenting on Zeff's old job as a sailor but was the tale still as famous now as it was back when pirates sailed the seas?

Sanji paused in his steps as his eyes followed the dancing waves. What would it be like to live on the ocean, Sanji wondered. How would it feel to wake up at the smell of sea salt, to battle the ever changing currents and weather, to be rocked asleep at night? Suddenly the ground Sanji stood on seemed so inferior to the sea he imagined. The white walls of the palace became more constricting as the robot imagined looking over a boat's railing to the ocean's endless horizon.

Something inside Sanji's head whispered, _"I want to be there,"_

That's idiotic, the robot's logic berated. Get anywhere near the water and he would eventually rust and malfunction. The sea was not place for a machine to live.

"_It'll work," _Sanji found himself thinking. "_One day, I'll make it work."_

* * *

_The next part is when the Sanji we all know and love will come in. These first two parts are still him learning to have emotions and thoughts and a personality so that's why he's not exactly in character. Next chapter though, I promise, he will do a lot more yelling.  
_

_Geez, I didn't realize writing an almost emotionless character was so hard._


	3. Learning to Catch Up

**Ugh, this chapter**

* * *

_Twelve months later  
_

No one, in Zoro's opinion, needed a house as big as this.

All a person needed for a house was a floor, four walls, and a roof. Vivi's maze of a home apparently had three floors, four wings, and who knows how many goddamn, endless hallways. An hour had passed since Zoro first walked through the front door with the intention of meeting with Vivi and the others, and the green haired man wasn't quite sure if he was getting anywhere closer to the meeting place.

Zoro shut another door closed after peeking inside only to find it full of cleaning supplies. The man sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he continued down the hallway to check the next door.

As much as Zoro was getting frustrated over the palace's ever changing layout, he wasn't quite sure he even wanted to find the right room.

Vivi had called him the night before to ask to meet, for a favor that she wanted to ask of him. While Zoro didn't have any negative feelings toward the younger girl, she had casually mentioned over the phone that Nami would be present as well. And Nami was a completely different subject altogether.

Zoro could only shudder at the thought of what Nami might make him do, or worse, how much money she could squeeze out of him while doing it. Fucking witch.

Opening the next door, Zoro peered his head inside to check if anyone was inside. To his disappointment the room was empty and bare. Only a neatly made bed against one wall and wooden dresser opposite it; a guest room, Zoro could only assume.

Zoro slammed the door shut with a growl. Maybe he should just tell Vivi the next time he saw her that he couldn't make it to their meeting, got caught up with work or something. Anything besides cluelessly walking around in this labyrinth of a home.

Turning around to try and make his way back to the palace's entrance, Zoro was surprised to see another figure standing at the end of the hall. For a majority of his time spent looking for the meeting place, the number of people Zoro actually ran into was few and far in between. What was even more surprising was the fact that the guy had approached him so quietly. Zoro couldn't recall hearing the tell-tale signs of footsteps against the marble floor and he mentally scolded himself for being so oblivious.

The stranger looked almost the same height as him, but was much smaller in comparison. Where Zoro was all broad shoulders and defined muscle, the other man was slim, but in no way gangly or awkward. He held himself perfectly poised, dressed in a stylish – and no doubt expensive – suit, his shined dress shoes tapping impatiently against the floor. His one visible, blue eye was glaring at Zoro, his mouth set in a firm line.

"Do you have a visitor's pass?" the stranger asked suddenly.

The question caught Zoro off guard, "Uh, what?"

The other man rolled his eyes.

"A visitor's pass." he repeated. "A pass for visitors. Needed for visitor's to pass. Usually given to visitors. Ring a bell?"

Zoro scowled. The other man sure knew how to run his mouth in the most annoying way possible. The green-haired man's anger seemed to only humor the stranger though as a small smirk tugged at the blond's lips.

"I don't have one." Zoro admitted, crossing his arms. Thinking back, no one at the front gate had told him that he needed a pass in order to enter. In fact, from the few people that Zoro had seen inside the palace, not one had even given him a second glance, let alone stop and ask if he had a visitor's pass on him. So what was this blond's deal?

The other man started walking toward Zoro, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Security hasn't been informed by the royal family of any guests coming in today." The stranger said. He paused for a moment to eye Zoro up and down, taking in the man's full appearance, before starting again. "And you're not in the system's databanks as an employee either."

Zoro's brows furrowed in anger and confusion but he tensed when the other man suddenly came into his personal space, their faces too close for comfort.

"So that makes you an intruder." The blond finished, his sharp smirk urging Zoro to make some kind of move.

The stranger clearly wanted a fight. While Zoro was sure he was capable of easily taking the other man down in a brawl, and the thought of doing so certainly had its appeal, the possibility of getting thrown out for starting a commotion was not something Zoro wanted to deal with. Perhaps he could somehow get the blond thrown out as well.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Robin's soft voice cut through the tension built between the two men. In a sudden blur of movement, the blond's expression went from challenging to stupidly excited as he spun on his heel to face the woman. His body flailed and wiggled in excitement as he spoke with new found fervor.

"Oh, Robin-chan, how lovely it is to see you! You look absolutely radiant today! Can I get you something to eat? Drink?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Sanji." Robin smiled politely before turning her attention over Sanji's shoulder to Zoro who was watching the blond's antics with confusion and disgust. Sanji followed her line of sight.

"Oh doubt worry about him, Robin-chan!" Sanji reassured. "I was just about to kick this intruder's ass back to the alley way his moss-head grew out from."

Defensively, Zoro's hand shot up to his hair. "Oi!"

Chuckling quietly, Robin stepped around Sanji to stand beside Zoro.

"It's quite alright, Sanji." Robin told him. "Zoro is a friend of Vivi's. He was meant to meet us in the library but I suppose he just lost his way."

Grumbling under his breath, Zoro glared at the floor beneath them.

Sanji's smile dropped at Robin's news. He was hesitant to leave a lady as beautiful and lovely as Robin alone with some muscle-headed punk who apparently couldn't find his way out of a paper bag.

But Robin's smile didn't waver. "I do believe you also have an appointment with Franky today, Sanji. You shouldn't keep him waiting."

In a split second, the blond's dopey expression was back. "Robin-chan is so sweet for reminding me!" he cooed.

He stalled for a moment, making sure that Robin really would be fine being alone with Zoro, before he made his way down the hall, around the corner and out of sight of the other two.

Zoro watched the man go, his scowl back in place. "Who the fuck was he?"

"That was Sanji." Robin replied. "Vivi's father hired him as one of the chefs in the kitchen."

"He's a cook?" he asked incredulity. The blond sure had a fowl and cocky attitude for someone who did nothing but cook food for a living.

"Well, that was what he was hired to do." Robn explained, watching Zoro carefully. "He was originally programmed for security purposes. He still works with the security team, he's just not in charge anymore."

Although the mere thought of that lanky blond once being the head of the security force for the palace definitely threw Zoro for a loop, one part of Robin's explanation stuck out the most.

"Programmed?" Zoro parroted. "Then he's some kind of...robot?"

Robin hummed in agreement. "I've been reminded multiple times by Franky that the appropriate term is 'android' but yes, you are correct."

Zoro mind thought back to his short encounter with the other man, looking over ever word and step that Sanji had made that could have given away his status of being machine rather than human. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary though. His blond hair had looked ridiculously soft, as if it much of his time to take care of it, his pale skin looked as real as Zoro's own, his eyes had been bright and lively, his eyebrows had been _curled_. It was nothing like any robot Zoro had ever seen.

And then suddenly Zoro's head was spinning. Every robot the green-haired man had come into contact with before spoke only with affirmation or agreement, with politeness and formality. This blond though, he had threatened, he had insulted, he had praised and showed genuine concern for Robin. Whatever Sanji was, he was definitely more advanced than anything he had ever seen.

Zoro returned his attention to the woman beside him. "And...did Franky build him?"

Zoro had only met Franky a handful of times, and only really because he happened to be Robin's fiance. But from those small gatherings Zoro remembered the bigger man mentioning that he worked with machines. Sometimes he did advanced projects for wealthy clients, and other times he worked in a greasy garage fixing cars. From what Zoro could tell though, Franky was quite famous in his field and it wouldn't surprise him if Sanji was his creations.

But Robin shook her head.

"Sanji's original creator, I believe, is on leave at the moment." Robin informed him. "Franky has simply taken quite an interest in Sanji and likes to work with him a bit. Not surprising considering Sanji is one of a kind."

"No kidding," Zoro snorted. "Who builds a servant with a shitty attitude?"

Something sparked in Robin's eyes.

"It's actually a little more complicated than that." The man gave her an unimpressed look but stayed silent for her to continue. "Where do you think the name 'Sanji' came from, Zoro?"

Zoro shrugged and crossed his arms.

"His creator?" he guessed, humoring the older woman.

"Not quite. Sanji's original name was a set of numbers given to him by his creator." Robin explained, undeterred by Zoro's bored look. "Sanji was the name he chose for himself."

Zoro frowned. The blond had chosen his own name? But before he could say anything Robin continued.

"He also personally asked Vivi if he could work in the kitchens as a chef. He prefers to learn things through experience rather than through programming. He enjoys the presence of woman over men. He has quite the habit of using explicit language."

As Robin's list went on, Zoro became more and more confused. Machines didn't have consciousness, they didn't have emotions, they didn't have interests, they didn't have preferences. They had programming. At least, that's what Zoro originally thought. But obviously the blond android was something else entirely, something that his creator, or anyone for that matter, couldn't have possibly foreseen. Sanji wasn't just a robot, he was _practically human._

Both were quiet in the hallway as Zoro tried to process all the new information Robin had given him. And despite how much the annoying blond's development did tug at Zoro's mind, the green-haired man eventually just shrugged.

"Ah, well, he's still an irritating dumbass."

Robin giggled before motioning for Zoro to follow her to the library, their conversation apparently over.

Ah, whatever, Zoro thought. It wasn't like he was going to run into the robot again.


End file.
